Life can be cruel sometimes. Case in point, I can remember kindergarten like it was yesterday but I can’t remember half of what I did yesterday(pause for laughter).
I remember the first day of kindergarten in that as we entered the room, the teacher greeted us and put a name tag on my shirt. And once the parents had left, (not before they took 3,000 pictures and videos), the teacher set us down on the floor, in a semicircle and had us one by one, and introduce ourselves. I remember hearing names I have never heard before and upon hearing them instantly felt a feeling that I hadn’t felt before, Envy. Names like Hamilton, Charlie, Lentz, Adelaide, and Christopher. And then it was my turn and I heard myself say my name and for the first time I felt disappointed and embarrassed in that I wished I had a “cool” name. But I also felt something else, something I would not be able to articulate for decades.
Fast forward to my mid- thirties. I am talking with my therapist one day and I mention to her that I had never felt attached to my given name. Like any good therapist, we began to discuss my concern. I shared with her that I had never felt like a Robert Henry (Rob, is what everyone has called me since I can remember.) I had never had this conversation with anyone. I was shocked when she told me that I’m not the only one who has felt this way.
I’m named after two dead people that had emotional significance to my father. And I don’t fault him for his reasoning. Throughout history, children were routinely named after family members. But in this case, as I grew up, it became quite apparent to me that in giving me his dad’s name, my father had attached unrealistic emotional expectations on me. When I messed up, it wasn’t just Rob messing up, it was Rob embarrassing his father and his father’s father through name association. Of course, no one knew of whom I was named after except close family members but my father behaved and acted in such a way as if the whole community knew.
Ironically, my sister refuses to go by her given name as well. Ever since she graduated college she requests people to call her by a nickname that she created. She has spent the last 25 years using her “new” name professionally. And she too was named after dead family members that had great emotional meaning to my father. My sister and I have never had this conversation about our names and I find it affirming that we both came to the same conclusion apart from each other.
The first time I tried on a different name was when I was working at a camp during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college. There was already camp counselor named Rob and, and wanting to have my own identity, I went by the name of Hobbs, which was the name of my favorite cartoon character from Calvin and Hobbes. Hobbes, was the stuffed “Tigger” looking tiger who was mischievous, funny and playful; characteristics that I felt I embodied. The nickname stuck for 2 years of camp counselorship and my dearest of college friends still call me that name to this day. But I was still Rob to everyone else.
So in the course of discussing this name crisis with my therapist she asked me, what name did I see myself identifying with? At the time I did not know and she left me with the assignment to come back to her with some names on our subsequent session.
Within the week I found myself watching the movie Legends of the Fall. In this movie, Brad Pitt plays a character named Tristan. By the end of the movie I knew what name I identified with. Inequivocally, Tristan. I emotionally connected with that name in the span of that movie, so much so that I found myself weeping throughout the movie, especially towards the end. I could feel his pain! It wasn’t only the name but the actual characterization Tristan in the movie summed up how I saw myself in real life. His thought processes, the things he valued, and the similarities of his upbringing and mine and our similar tumultuous relationships with our fathers, in that, despite having a great love for our fathers, sadly our fathers, due to their own stubbornness and pride, never understood us.
I can’t begin to describe to the reader in words how it felt to finally hear and say a name that resonated throughout my entire being. The very name brought me peace and joy and for the first time in my entire life, a sense of true identity.
It’s been 18 years since I discovered my real name. And it was during the same time that I began, what I now refer to, as my journey of authenticity. At this point in my life, I’ve decided not to change my name, mainly out of respect for my father. But I have begun using Tristan with new people that I meet and in certain circles.
Do you have a similar story? Do you have an issue with your name? I’d love to hear your story.
